Third Time's the Charm
by gilmoregeek13
Summary: Blair and Chuck face heartache as they try to start their family. Post-finale. TV universe compliant.
1. Chapter 1

Part 1:

1 year after finale

"Ugh, as if it wasn't enough to be fat, maternity apparel leaves much to be desired," Blair pouted and briskly scraped metal hangers down the clothes rack.

"Well, B, I happen to have a best friend who has her own fashion empire that could probably rectify this situation. Maybe you've heard of her? She runs Eleanor Waldorf Designs," Serena playfully sparred.

"Poppy Lifton?" Blair quipped.

"Laugh all you want, but I don't know why you haven't already started your own maternity line. That'd solve all your swollen problems."

Blair gasped. "S, I thought you said I wasn't that big yet!"

Serena rolled her eyes. "You're not. But I know what I say and what you see are two different things."

"Still, it's not nice to provoke me. You know how sensitive I've been lately," Blair sniffed.

Serena knew all too well. At only three months along, everything about Blair was sensitive: her sense of smell, her stomach, her breasts (Serena wished she didn't know this one). Blair had requested their shopping date be moved up to 2pm so she'd have time to get home for her now-regular 4pm nap. Hence the pair was now circling the women's department at Bergdorf Goodman's before Blair's fatigue kicked in full force.

"Blair, you're three months along. I hardly think the best time to freak out about how big you are is during the first trimester, since you're never going to be as small as you are right now throughout the rest of your pregnancy. Besides I don't remember you acting like this last time," Serena hesitated to include the comparison. Although it had been about three years, she still wasn't sure how Blair felt about everything that had happened. She had opened up to Dan, but for the most part, her pregnancy and healing after losing the baby had been kept mostly to herself.

Blair took the turn in conversation in stride. "Well, it was different then. I was younger and had dignified muumuus to cover up the royal bump. Now that I'm Pregnant Blair Bass, I can't stop looking like Blair Bass. I have a fashion reputation to uphold."

Serena jabbed her elbow into her friend's side in good humor. "Another person living inside of you hasn't taken away any of your ego. If anything, I think your opinion of yourself has inflated."

Blair snorted, "And what's so wrong about that? This baby I'm baking contains the DNA of Chuck Bass. How could I not absorb some of that into my own bloodstream?" Blair patted her slightly rounded stomach.

Chuck had been beside himself when she told him. It was understood they wanted to wait a little while before starting a family. They were so young when they had gotten married. Although the timing was partially out of necessity, Blair had considered marrying before, and if she was being honest with herself, she had only ever wanted to consider marrying Chuck Bass. But babies could wait, they had both decided.

In theory, they would have liked to have waited until they were at least 25. In reality, it was hard to avoid given their penchant for sex, perpetual attraction to one another, and less than reliable forms of birth control. _How was a businesswoman like Blair expected to remember to take a pill at the same time each day when her schedule was never the same? How could Chuck, as a husband, be expected to use a condom_ every single time?

And so it wasn't a total surprise when less than a year after their "I Do's," Blair decided to hunt down her elusive period with a narrow plastic stick.

She knew he wouldn't be upset, but she was still anxious to tell him. She paced for the rest of the afternoon in their suite at the Empire, driving Monkey crazy as he followed her, nearly underfoot. She'd shush him when he'd bark, afraid to miss the ding of the elevator as her husband arrived home from work, almost always right before 6—Chuck never wanted to keep her waiting too long. But tonight, as the minutes ticked past 5:30, she tried to find things to keep her busy, like pouring Chuck a tumbler of scotch, ordering dinner from the room service menu, straightening the end tables in the living room that were already perfectly arranged, fluffing the pillows on their bed and lint rolling their comforter. Blair had nearly distracted herself when the doors of the elevator slid open.

Before he could even get a word out in greeting, Blair had rushed to the entryway, sliding to a stop, and looked her husband in the eyes, blurting out, "I'm pregnant."

Chuck's hearing grew fuzzy, and he could hardly see Blair standing in front of him as his vision blurred and then sharpened in psychedelic hues. Blair watched as his facial expression rearranged from one of shock to the same grin he wore when she shared this news with him a few years back, right before she crushed him when she revealed the biological father of the fetus. This time, there was no mistaking Chuck's role.

Before she could say anything else, Chuck had engulfed her in his arms, dropping his sport coat and briefcase with a clatter, Monkey scampering over to investigate. "I love you," he breathed into her ear. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Blair started to cry, and he kissed her fully on the mouth, pulling away to stroke her cheek and dry her tears.

"This is a lot sooner than we planned," she started, unsure why she was trying to temper his excitement.

"It doesn't matter, Blair. You know we can do it. You also know that waiting until we were 25 probably wasn't going to happen anyway. In fact, I'm surprised we made it through the honeymoon without procreating."

Blair chuckled and sniffed in agreement, waiting for Chuck to remove his arms from her waist. He didn't though. He just held her and looked right into her eyes, as if he was now looking at the mother of his children instead of his wife. He pulled her close again, shut his eyes, and breathed out a sigh of contentment.

A twinge in her back pulled Blair out of her reverie.

"I'm going to need a break soon," she warned Serena. The blonde was distractedly looking through swimsuits that Blair refused to even consider for herself and her bump.

"Well, it's almost your naptime anyway. Are you starting to get a little fussy?" Serena teased.

Blair stuck her tongue out at her best friend. "I'm going to remember how mean you were to me when you get knocked up."

"Oh, Blair, by the time that happens, you'll have your baby and won't even be able to pull your eyes away from its face to glance my way and hurl an insult," Serena retorted.

" _Her_ face," Blair corrected, a smile growing wide. "It's a girl."

Blair was not alarmed at the decibel of the screech that left her friend's mouth, but every employee and customer in the store was. Blair temporarily lost her sight as a cascade of blonde hair covered her face when her best friend threw her arms around her shoulders.

"It's a girl! It's a girl! It had to be a girl! I knew it would be a girl!" Serena shouted as she jostled Blair with her every movement.

"Okay, calm down, Auntie," Blair attempted to diffuse the spectacle. Of course, she really wanted to act the same way. She had always wanted a little girl to throw tea parties, and dress up, and essentially be her Mini-Me. Chuck was elated to hear he would be having a daughter, too. He had always been concerned at fostering a father/son relationship after the example he had.

Serena finally pulled away, but Blair thought her face looked like it would be permanently frozen in that over-the-top smile.

"A niece! I'm going to have a niece! I can't tell you how thrilled I am!"

"You don't have to," Blair laughed. "I can tell."

"Come on, B," Serena tugged her friend by the crook of her arm. "Let's get you back to your room so you can keep baking my niece till she's golden brown and not soggy in the middle."

"That's a delightful image of my precious baby infant, thank you," Blair sneered.

Serena just laughed as she nudged her along to the waiting limousine, deciding that Blair's body wasn't the only thing that needed a rest.

Chuck was working late tonight. She hated it. He hated it. But it happened sometimes.

After her nap, Blair had decided to take her dinner in the dining room with the hotel guests. She was seated immediately at the intimate booth that was reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Bass whenever they didn't eat in their suite. After a satisfying dinner and a special dessert that hadn't even been printed on the menu, Blair couldn't keep her eyes open, and she decided to call it an early night. She called a valet to take Monkey on a brief stroll (if she had more energy tonight, she would have done it herself), drew herself a bath, and texted Chuck that she'd be asleep when he got home. After drying off and rubbing cocoa butter around the tiny bump, Blair tucked herself into bed, Monkey at her feet.

Chuck groaned when he felt sunlight hit his eyelids. He had crawled into the suite and his bed far later than he had planned, but his late meeting had run into a later dinner and was topped off with drinks at midnight. Needless to say, he was glad that Blair had already gone to sleep and wasn't waiting for him to get home since he didn't his car didn't pull up until 1:30 in the morning.

Given his productive evening, Chuck was inclined to go to the office a little later today, hopefully treating his pregnant wife to brunch first to make up for his absence.

He was still in awe that she was pregnant, even though he had several weeks to get used to the idea. He looked at his wife every chance that he got—granted, he did this even before she was expecting—taking in the minute changes that he was probably the only one to notice, aside from the almost nonexistent bump, of course. Her cheeks had widened, just a little bit, and she'd be horrified if he revealed that he detected it. Her walk had changed, not into a waddle, merely a slight indication that her back was a bit uncomfortable (he made sure to massage it as often as he could). Chuck believed Blair was proof positive that the pregnancy glow was not a myth, though Blair was wont to contradict him when she was bent over the toilet, heaving through morning sickness during the first trimester. And of course, her breasts had swelled, not that she had been in the mood to let him experience them himself, though.

He rolled over onto his side so he could look at her, eyes still closed. The baby really took up a lot of her energy. She looked pale, even though she was resting. Chuck thought maybe she'd be in the mood for a romp since her morning sickness was on its way out. At the very least, he wanted her to have plenty of time to get ready for brunch.

He gave her a kiss on the lips, their preferred method of waking each other up. But it didn't startle her. Usually, she'd release a moan and start to stretch. Sometimes she'd scrunch up her nose and push him away, asking for 10 more minutes. The best days were when she'd start to kiss him back, eyes still closed, him collapsing on her 20 minutes later, spent and satisfied before they even said "Good Morning."

She felt cold, and Chuck felt panic rise. He touched her cheek, and it didn't feel like Blair. He gently shook her several times and called her name, desperate for a response. Nothing. Chuck turned to his nightstand and reached for his phone. He leapt out of bed, mistakenly shoving his shoes on without socks and trying to pull his pajama pants on over them all while dialing 911.

"911, what is your emergency?" the dispatcher droned.

"My wife isn't waking up! She's pregnant, and she's really pale, and I'm trying to wake her up, and she won't!" Chuck relayed, shouting and nearly in tears. He continued to jostle Blair's shoulder. "You need to send an ambulance to the Empire Hotel. Penthouse."

"Sir, I just need a little bit more information. How far along—" the dispatcher was cut off.

"I need you to get someone on their way here now! A team of the best paramedics New York City has to offer," Chuck felt himself growing delirious. He threw back the covers, wanting to expedite the amount of time emergency workers would need to spend getting his wife ready to leave for the hospital and almost dropped the phone.

"Blood," he whispered. "There's a lot of blood."

To Be Continued. . .


	2. Chapter 2

Blair woke up with an oxygen tube stuck in her nostrils, scratchy sheets on her legs, and a death grip on her hand. Blinking slowly, she heard her husband breathe out heavily.

"Blair," he sighed. Her eyes connected with his. His pupils were dilated. At the surface, she saw he was relieved to see her awake, but concern and pain weren't too far beneath.

Blair tried to clear her throat. Her tongue felt dry. Quickly, Chuck reached on the bedside table for a glass and positioned a straw to her lips. Grateful, she sucked down three-quarters of the room temperature water.

Looking at her surroundings, Blair was more and more sure she was in a hospital, she just didn't know why. All she remembered was the night before, feeling exhausted, and going to bed. She didn't even hear Chuck come in.

She couldn't think of anything out of place last night. Well, there had been a little blood when she went to the bathroom before bed. But spotting was normal. The doctor had told her as much. Immediately Blair's stomach dropped. The baby.

She looked at Chuck again, who had just returned from summoning a nurse in the hall. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and murmured that everything would be okay.

"Why wouldn't everything be okay?" Blair's voice was tiny. "What happened?"

Chuck looked like he was deciding how best to answer before the doctor walked in.

"Hello, Mrs. Bass. I'm Dr. Ramella. I'm glad to see that you're awake. How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

"Tired. Sore," Blair responded. "What happened?"

"Your husband found you in bed this morning and called 911. You were unresponsive so our EMTs arrived and brought you here to Mount Sinai."

Blair looked to Chuck for confirmation. He looked haunted, as if he was replaying it all in his head. But he nodded, grimly.

"Is everything okay?" Blair worried.

"Well, Mrs. Bass, you had passed out sometime in the early morning due to some significant blood loss. We have every hope that you will make a full recovery. Unfortunately, the blood loss indicated that there might be something wrong with the pregnancy, or a miscarriage. We performed an ultrasound when you were first brought in, and were unable to find a heartbeat. I'm so sorry."

Blair looked down at her hands, one still clenched in Chuck's. She lost her grip, and her hands felt clammy. She felt like she was sweating. Was it hot in here? Who makes these blankets? It felt like barbed wire was raking across her shins.

Dr. Ramella spoke again: "We wanted to stabilize you first before we performed another ultrasound. We'll need to see if we have to schedule a follow-up procedure."

Suddenly, Blair's head snapped to attention as she made eye contact with the doctor. "I'm bulimic. Well, I was bulimic. Did that have anything to do with this?"

Chuck had never heard her say those words so directly before. He was stunned and felt awful watching his wife try to assign a reason to the tragedy.

"No no, nothing about this situation is your fault, Mrs. Bass. There would be a risk if you were currently bulimic, but the fertility side effects rarely extend into recovery, especially after several years," Dr. Ramella tried to console.

"The car crash, then," Blair supplied. "I was pregnant then and lost the baby. Wouldn't that have something to do with this?"

"Not necessarily. The odds that these are unrelated incidents are high. Certainly the accident could have resulted in some restrictions in your ability to carry to full-term, but there's nothing to reflect that is the case within your medical records. Unfortunately, I'm inclined to believe this is just a horrible circumstance."

Tears fell silently from Blair's eyes. She couldn't look at Chuck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in his direction.

"Never," Chuck started, his voice breaking. "Never apologize to me for this. This is not your fault."

"I couldn't do it," Blair moaned. "I couldn't do it again."

Chuck was speechless as he held each of her hands. He squeezed tightly and closed his eyes, willing to go back to last night. Willing himself to cancel his evening, have dinner with his wife and unborn baby, if not to save _her_ , to just spend one last night with both of them.

He should have been there when Blair went to bed. He should have paid attention to her in the middle of the night when he got back. Even if it meant waking her up. Maybe she would have realized she wasn't feeling well. Maybe he could have stopped this whole thing.

Chuck wouldn't be allowed in the operating room. The second ultrasound had concluded that Blair did need to have surgery to "evacuate the contents of her uterus," and Chuck felt sick to his stomach. He was also irate that he couldn't be there with her.

Blair seemed smaller than he had ever seen her, which was just as unsettling as seeing her in a hospital bed. Blair Waldorf Bass was not small, but today, she was. After hearing the news that the pregnancy was over, he didn't know if he'd ever see the typical Blair again.

Although she didn't make eye contact with Dr. Ramella, Chuck could tell she was listening intently as he described the procedure to her. First, they'd insert a speculum and dilate her cervix. This could be uncomfortable. Then they'd use a tool to "remove the tissue." This may cause cramping. Blair could choose to be awake and numbed or fully sedated, and she didn't know what to choose. She hated the idea of being willfully unconscious after last night. But she also didn't know if she could bear the opposite.

She looked at Chuck, finally, and said, "I think I want to be put under."

"Whatever you want, Blair. You can do whatever you want," Chuck replied, eager to accommodate. He, too, was afraid of her going under general anesthesia, but he thought the mental scars of remembering the details would be even worse.

"I'll be going in with her, right?" Chuck had implored the doctor, attempting to emphasize the _correct_ response.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Bass," Dr. Ramella began. "As this is technically a surgical procedure, we'll need you to wait here in Mrs. Bass' room or in our waiting room."

He then turned to Blair. "You'll probably be groggy for a day or so, but you'll be able to resume normal activities after that. You may experience some nausea, vomiting, and cramping, and you may spot for a bit after the procedure, so we recommend using sanitary pads. Pain relievers are fine to use to help manage your pain or discomfort."

Blair swallowed hard. "When?"

"Whenever you need them, Mrs. Bass," Dr. Ramella replied, confused.

"No, I mean, when will the procedure be?" she clarified.

"Oh, yes, we'd like to do it this afternoon. You don't want to wait too long, as the body can start to reject the tissue, and this could be cause for infection."

Blair nodded. "I see. Could you please give us a few minutes?" She gestured to her husband.

"Of course," Dr. Ramella answered. "Just page the nurse when you're ready to start being prepped."

Blair couldn't say anything. She just looked up at Chuck with tears in her eyes. His looked back at her, equally full. They both silently choked on tears, and Chuck wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

After a few minutes, he removed his arms, lifted his head, and hovered above her stomach. "I love you," he murmured to what used to happily be Blair's bump. And then he delicately dropped his head, placing a kiss on the covered mound.

He turned his head and glanced at his wife who stared back and nodded once, resolutely. Then he reached for the controls to summon the nurse.

Chuck wasn't patient. He didn't like waiting. Especially when his wife was on an operating table in this hospital, and he was nowhere near her.

She was scared. He could read it in her eyes. She was worried she wouldn't be strong enough. But he knew Blair, and he knew she would be. He said as much to her right before they wheeled her out of the room, half loopy on the pre-anesthetic.

The car accident had stuck with Blair longer than anyone—even Dan Humphrey—realized. On the most recent anniversary of the event, Blair and Chuck had spent the evening talking about it. Blair had thought it to be healing. And Chuck had realized the complete devastation that losing that baby and thinking she had lost him had taken on her.

She had memorized the announcements she got word-for-word:

 _I'm sorry, Blair. But, you lost the baby._

 _Where's Chuck?_

 _He lost a lot of blood, and he never woke up, and it's not looking good._

Those words had marked Blair with terror, and the terror didn't pass once she was home and knew that Chuck was healthy. It didn't even pass after she married him. She told Chuck that ever since she learned he could be hurt, that he could be taken away from her, she realized just what that would mean. She opened up to Chuck and said that she thinks of the hurt that could have been all the time and is never more thankful than when the two of them are anywhere together.

Chuck smiled softly, thinking of how little it took to really make Blair Waldorf Bass happy. If only society knew how truly unmaterialistic she was. They'd probably revoke her Upper East Side address.

And then an awful thought crept into his head: _what was the state of their Empire address?_

Chuck had left without caring for the condition of the suite. He had barked an order to mind Monkey to a passing bellhop as he jogged alongside his unconscious wife's stretcher, but he could imagine the state of the room, especially the bed, the couple had left it in.

Blair would be embarrassed if the Empire housekeeping had to tidy up after _this_. So Chuck knew there was only one option.

"Meester Chuck!" the Polish voice rang in delight on the other end.

In spite of himself, Chuck couldn't help but smile.

"Dorota, hello," he began. "I need a favor."

She was shocked, to say the least. They all were shocked. They hadn't found out that long ago. They hadn't told everybody that long ago. And now? If they had waited a few weeks, there would have been nothing to tell.

Dorota, spitting foreign prayers over the phone, had told Chuck not to worry about a thing. And Chuck actually believed it coming from her. He fully expected to find the entire suite cleaned, meals made for the next month, and a note with a promise to be there whenever Blair needed her as soon as they set foot in the door. Although Dorota was still very much a part of Blair's life, after moving out of the Waldorf penthouse and in with Chuck, Dorota was reduced to part-time status with full-time pay. It worked out perfectly with Dorota able to mind her children most days and take care of the Blair and the Waldorf home whenever was necessary.

After taking care of the immediate issue, he supposed he needed to let the family know. He needed to thwart any further spread of the pregnancy news and divert well-wishers. So he called the best person for that, too:

"Charles, darling," Lily cooed. "I'm so glad you called, I feel like it's been ages since I've seen you. The both of you, really."

Chuck felt himself getting choked up. Lily had been so excited, especially for Chuck, to hear that Blair was pregnant. She was the closest thing he had to a mother, and she was now going to watch him become a parent. It was surreal for the both of them.

"Lily," Chuck started, voice breaking.

Lily's tone shifted dramatically. "Charles? Charles, what's wrong?"

"She. . .she um. . ." he started. "Blair lost the baby."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then a brief silence. When Lily spoke again, he could hear tears in her voice, too.

"Oh, Charles," she began. "I'm so sorry for you and Blair."

"Thank you," Chuck replied. That statement felt at once perfect and inappropriate.

"What can I do?" Lily questioned.

"Could you let everyone know?" Chuck asked, feeling like the little boy he never was, asking his mom to fix something he felt was completely out of the realm of his responsibility.

"Of course," she responded without hesitation. "What else can I do?"

"That's all, really. Dorota is over at the suite cleaning up and making dinner. But letting everyone know would save me a lot of time and energy," he justified.

At that moment, he noticed Dr. Ramella enter the waiting room, pulling down a surgical mask and scanning the group for the sad, young husband. He made a nod of acknowledgement when he saw Chuck.

"Thank you again, Lily. I have to go. Blair's doctor just came in."

"Yes, yes. Don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of everything," Lily pronounced.

Grateful, Chuck hung up and stood with anticipation.

"The surgery went very well," Dr. Ramella began, causing Chuck's blood pressure to lower significantly. "She's still pretty groggy, but she should be waking up in the next half hour or so if you'd like to come back?"

Chuck barely spoke, except to acknowledge the direction from which the doctor came.

"This way," the doctor guided.

Blair woke up with the same oxygen tube in her nose, covered in the same scratchy sheet, holding the same strong hand as she had been hours before.

"Hi," Chuck greeted her with a soft smile on his face. "How do you feel?"

Blair could only think of one word: "Empty."

Chuck's face fell, and Blair regretted her use of the word. She didn't want to make him feel worse. It wasn't his fault. But she needed to be honest with her husband. She needed to be honest with the man she wanted to be the father of her children.

"I just want to go home and be alone with you," Blair tried to clarify.

Chuck gave her hand another squeeze. "I love you. You're the strongest woman I know."

Blair gave a half-hearted shrug. "When can we get out of here?"

"The doctor said as long as you remain stable for a few hours, you can probably be discharged later tonight."

"Good," Blair responded. The idea of leaving soon was the only thing helping her hold herself together.

Chuck helped Blair ease onto the limousine bench for the drive back to the Empire. She was shuffling more than walking, and his main concern was making her move too suddenly. As soon as he shut the door on her side, he ran around the back of the car to join her.

Blair was holding her head in her hands.

"Do you have a headache?" Chuck questioned.

Blair moved a hand to cover her mouth as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "No, not a headache. I just feel a little queasy."

Chuck rummaged around the back seat until he found a bottle of water, twisted off the top and handed it to his wife. She smiled weakly and started to sip it down.

"Chuck? Can you find one of the painkillers for me to take?"

Opening the paper bag from the hospital pharmacy, he pulled out one of the orange pill bottles, verified the label, and poured one capsule into his palm.

Blair took it from him and swallowed it down, closing her eyes, clearly not wanting to speak for the relatively short ride back to their suite.

The doorman who greeted them obviously knew something was wrong, but he still opened Blair's car door with a smile, offering a hand. Blair was gathering herself in preparation for exiting, and Chuck brushed off his employee in favor for helping Blair out himself.

"If you could have the items in the backseat sent up in a bit for us, Greg?" Chuck offered the now defunct doorman a new task.

"Certainly, Mr. Bass. I'll have them sent up right away," he replied.

Chuck gave a slight nod in approval before turning his attention back to his wife.

"You ready?" he asked.

Blair steeled herself with a deep breath and grabbed his biceps to support her transition from seated to standing.

"Take your time," Chuck coached.

Blair obliged. It took a good two minutes just for the two of them to move through the lobby to the elevator, but Chuck didn't care. Those at the front desk were as professional as always and didn't draw any attention to their pace. The staff was loyal to the Empire's owners. Chuck had always treated them well, and they were fond of the young, ambitious couple.

When the elevator doors opened into their penthouse, the smell of citrus cleanser greeted both their noses.

Blair hummed in brief contentment. "Dorota was here," she accurately ascertained.

"And I guarantee there are meals for us for weeks on end," Chuck added. "Why don't you go have a seat on the couch, and I'll heat something up for us."

After rewarming a freshly baked Chicken Pot Pie, Chuck sat next to his wife in front of their TV, playing a rerun of _The Real Housewives of Orange County_.

Chuck quirked an eyebrow at her choice of entertainment.

"What, Chuck?" Blair provoked. "You know I can't watch all those phonies in New York."

Chuck sighed and passed over her bowl, steaming with gravy and vegetables. After a few minutes of Blair nibbling on her dinner, she looked up and spoke.

"This feels too normal."

Chuck put his spoon down, too. "I know."

Silently, they both moved their dishes to the coffee table, no longer hungry. Instinctively, they leaned in closer to each other, joined hands, and fell under the tranquil spell of Bravo.


End file.
